


What I Hold Dear

by Val_Creative



Category: YuYu Hakusho
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The overpowering stench of death and rain couldn't stop him from tracking the individual predominantly weighed down by a vague but achingly familiar aroma of fully bloomed roses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Hold Dear

*

 

Loathing seized my vision as I stare down at the hideous item in my bandaged, right hand. False light from high above the ceiling shielded the private events that have transpired and bounces off its circular rarity, its horrible beauty.

A tear gem.

Black as midnight in Makai, dark as a criminal's heart.

Consequent of sympathy. Something I was never allowed to feel for another being. A repulsive reminder of how weakness comes to all like a rotting disease, striking without warning, slow and painful when in effect. In time, there is acceptance. Even if it tends to be deadened.

I . . . cried.

 

 

*

 

" _Where do you think he ran off to?"_

" _It's been what, three months, and he doesn't even bother to tell us--who cares?"_

"... _Do you have a heart underneath all that fat?"_

" **Urameshi** _\- Why I outta---!"_

" _BOYS, really! Now is not the time for fighting! Kurama could be in very serious danger if he hasn't contacted Lord Koemna about his assignment."_

" _You think he's in trouble, Botan?"_

_"…I'm not sure... hey, where did Hiei disappear to?"_

_Before Kuwabara could utter so much as a 'good riddance', the short figure in an oversize coat was nearly two-thirds to his destination._

 

*

 

Raindrops that fell like shards from the gray mist . . . they gave rise to the musty stink of decaying dirt and shriveling flora. Shrines float amid the fog, swimming into blurriness from the imprisoned tears of one of the few wanderers of the outside world. Allowing the punishment the afternoon storm brandished.

The overpowering stench of death and rain couldn't stop him from tracking the individual predominantly weighed down by a vague but achingly familiar aroma of fully bloomed roses.

Mud licked the edges of heavy, dark boots as the owner halted some feet inside the old-fashion, iron gated entrance. His form fizzed like static before becoming completely solid behind the taller figure donning a worn, fleece jacket drenched to the bone and once thick, red hair now plastered to the scalp of the wearer.

Hiei moved to the side to study what his ex-partner was staring so intently at.

Copper-bright words engraved in concrete.

 

**Minamino Shiori**

Ruby red eyes skimmed over the date, almost two months ago to the day. Hiei ignored the thin strands of black bangs obstructing his sight, coming back into his position directly behind Kurama to say apathetically, "You cannot find her."

Whether it was his tone or the simple truth radiating from the sentence . . . could it have been _frustration_ . . . The quiet and sullen demon felt the first wave of stinging tears break free. A more rational, _proud_ side to Kurama bore a brutal sense of shame at his emotional imperfection, having it witnessed to **_Hiei_** of all living beings; someone who must have been under the impression that he was more formidable than this.

In response to that side, Kurama did not turn around. But the shuddering of his body, virtually unnoticeable to the naked _human_ eye but to the higher-class demon watching him, very clear. No noises. No gasps of sobs. No cutting intakes of breath.

Despite the stillness, a painful tension crushed Kurama.

Hiei certainly had felt it upon discovering his own mother's suicide.

The very raw and _very real_ stripping of his insides, as if someone imaginary had forced his heart out through his breastbone, squeezed his lungs clean of precious air. To a degree. . .it had been something to rival mentally with the operation of his Jagan Eye.

He suddenly became very aware of the cool caress of the object dangling underneath his ragged shirt.

Kurama couldn't stand this much immediate pain in his current state, being the spawn of Youko or not. Carefully, the shorter demon stepped forward initially with the motives to ensure that the other wouldn't collapse (Kurama swayed little but remained firm), if worse came to worse.

When Hiei came close enough, a light tingling rose in his chest; something soft blanketing his nerves, and without thinking on his actions, he closed the distance.

The redhead bowed his head, his chest giving a faint, tight heave at the sensation of a pair of strong arms slipping around his waist. A second later, the pressure of someone's head touching his back. Grateful for this. . . hugs came scarce in his vocabulary. . . he let out a hoarse cry, shaking harder then ever while still managing to stand.

Hiei could feel the physical vibrations of sorrow through the wet material his cheek pressed against, wincing when his companion permitted himself one noise. One was all it took to express the pure torture. It snaked up into his system, icing his inners.

Before he realized it was happening, perhaps he might have tried to stop it, a tiny line of moisture seeped from the corner of his left eye and quickly hardened together. The nearly soundless _clink_ of a small, round object hitting the toe of his shoe jolted him back from the numbness. . . erasing the tingling.

 

 

*

 

And as Hiei stared at that terrible gem gleaming in his palm, the dealings of the past week washed over him dimly.

Bits and pieces he could pick out . . . coming back into Kurama's human-world home, half supporting and half carrying him in their conquest of reaching the front door . . . standing aloft at the bedroom window until morning hours to guard over his friend's restless sleep . . . leaving one day and returning the next to find cereal sewn across the kitchen tiles and Kurama in the middle of it all on his knees, scrambling, lost and wide-eyed.

Plainest had been the night after Hiei found him at the shrines, Kurama stayed up most of the evening telling the only one who would listen without interrupting the story of the past three months. Shiori's illness had reared its ugly head after so many months of remission, crippling and permanently keeping her bedridden. Kurama couldn't leave her at the time. He _had_ thought of contacting everyone, but it stayed a thought in the back of his worries as she steadily worsened.

Without warning, she had passed away in her slumber, no goodbyes, no kisses on the hand or mouth. Kurama arranged the burial soon after and set out for Spirit World, in hopes of finding a way to contact the soul of his mother. He had asked countless ferry girls, even did the unthinkable of considering tapping into Youko Kurama for guidance.

None of it brought him closer to what he desired. She was beyond his reaches.

And he had needed to hear it from someone's lips.

Hiei tucked the little jewel in his stiffening grip into one of his hidden pockets, as he shifted on the counter-stool. Awareness of a fierce, youki energy heightened.

A small smile plucked up the corners of a washed-out countenance. A silky calm whisper from Kurams's lips, "Hiei, how long have you been sitting there?"

"Not long."

White rays of sun blocked his view of Kurama as he got up from inclining on the doorframe and crossed to the refrigerator. Hiei blinked against the strain momentarily, fighting to keep his inquiry neutral. "How are... are you well, fox?" The small smile reappeared to secure its place at the arrival of the question.

"Better. Thank you, Hiei, for staying with me through this--"

Kurama hesitated.

 _Ordeal_ lay on the back of his tongue, waiting to be spoken ,but somehow calling it an "ordeal" would have made it sound like it wasn't important.

The occupant on the stool made an indifferent noise with his throat, signaling the dead haze in a green stare to vanish promptly. Kurama reached for a clean glass from the sink and said evenly as he poured some water, "Would you like anything?"

When there was no answer, Kurama put away the bottle. "I will be going back to the office," he announced. "They are allowing me the standard two-week vacation a little early." Hiei shifted in his seat, folding his arms over his white scarf and turning his face towards the now fairly less blinding window.

"Do they know what happened?"

The redhead nodded, sounding almost amused, "Indeed, they do. That is why they're letting me have it early."

The way Kurama had said it made it seem as if the idea were a joke. Hiei's eyes narrowed.

He would never understand this world's bizarre, almost unhealthy humor. Kurama sipped his water, speaking casually, "I'll have another week to do bills and various other things." Long ,slender fingers absently flipped some papers on the kitchen table. "Groceries should be picked up; Kaasan will ** _-_** "

All of Kurama's muscles froze up mid-sentence, and emerald green orbs widened impossibly big. Hiei tore his eyes from the window and braced himself, preparing for anything. Of what he had seen; crying, incoherent babbling, exhaustion . . . There would be no telling what the type, the loss of control that would take him. Hiei couldn't feel it then, but later on he would suppress the concern etched in his normally empty expression.

The poisonous haze remained but Kurama merely cleared his throat as if he had experienced an insignificant hiccup, going for the trench coat hanging in the hallway.

"I'm going to the store."

The other demon asked quietly, not moving to stop him, "Are you sure?"

"I can go alone."

The front door slammed shut.

 

 

*

 

Arms full of brown bags, Kurama returned to his Mother's property, a placid look safely returning to him.

Up through his thick, red bangs, he spotted a black speck off in the foreground. Resting against the porch terrace, the dark-haired yōkai stared ahead blankly, one hand hanging over on his precious katana. Kurama was gravely tempted to smirk. Was it just his imagination. . . or did Hiei look _bored_?

Going over the street and coming up the walkway, he allowed himself a moment to openly rake his vision across to the features of the Forbidden Child. There was no denying the handsome exterior about him, if allowed to observe so honestly; Hiei would never agree, but this was _his_ opinion.

Without the black and red coat, his powerful arms with years of training were exposed, and the same powerful muscles in his chest and stomach were concealed beneath the same shirt he had worn since Kurama had met him ages ago. Just as powerful legs trapped in black material and the same old dirty boots. A clump of spiky hair fell just over his closing left eye, serenely moving to the breeze. It strangely flattered him. In fact, agreat deal about Hiei seemed to flatter him. . .

Kurama bit back another smirk.

He said, climbing the porch steps, "You're not worried about the neighbors looking across the street and finding a strange man carrying a sword in broad daylight?"

With his eyes still shut, Hiei spoke matter-of-factly, "They should be use to it by now."

As Kurama entered his home, he expected the other de,on to stay where he was, or more accurately get up and find something more important to do. But he didn't act surprised after putting away some cans of fruit to find that Hiei had once again located himself near the stools. Cross-armed and quiet as a mouse. _Mouse_. Pulling down the corners of his twitching lips, Kurama tried his best to look uninterestedly busy. Oh, how Hiei hated that nickname. Especially coming from the overly eager mouth of the 'baka'.

"Fox, what's so amusing?"

His face didn't convulse with a telltale of his lie as Kurama crumpled up a paper bag, "Absolutely nothing," and with great efficiency managed to switch the subject, all the while Hiei now mildly eying him with wariness. "Have you checked on Yukina lately? I fear that you remaining here has brought on a sense of deficiency to your sworn duty."

Red eyes blinked slowly.

"My Jagan doesn't sense any danger for her."

Kurama insisted, not looking up, "You should go see her." Hiei may have appeared perfectly unresponsive at that moment, but on the inside, a sliver of fascination and a much larger portion of a darker emotion wormed its slimy trail into his logic.

 _Hurt_?

At first it had been too soft, too _unreal_ passing from his lips. But after a few seconds, Kurama was very sure it had been spoken.

"She will be fine. You are a different case."

The sentence rang true in his eardrums. Genuinely startled, Kurama whipped around only to be further startled by the sight he was seeing. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Hiei paused with his hand inside the cabinet and released the tomato can, simply stating, "They don't put themselves away, do they?"

Kurama had a feeling he was seriously asking.

"No... I suppose they don't."

 

 

*

 

Floods of streetlamp yellow slit through the bedroom blinds, adequate to light the barely dark setting they situated themselves in.

From his position stretched out on the spread of the mattress, the taller yōkai murmured determinedly to the smaller standing against the windowpane across the modestly-sized room, "You should rest, Hiei." At the sound of an unmoved ' _Hrm_ ', Kurama sat up and redoubled his efforts. "You can't use the Jagan when you're falling asleep on your feet." A brief perceptible pat of the sheets, and lesser of a smile. "There is room."

"Let's not start that up again."

At the blunt rebuttal Hiei provided, the smile grew absurdly. Kurama had thought the other demon had forgotten those intruding memories; of a secret laced solely between infrequent visits at dusk, a mystical, cloaked figure emerging from the opening of his screen. . . full of insecurity and a physical need of comfort.

Kurama had happily welcomed the feel of another's heat surging through him, through light, inexperienced kisses (at least one, convicted felon to be specific), touches, and lazy embraces that ended as the sun returned. _Nothing_ more. Their relationship, if it could even be considered as such, the romantic element became short-term. Hiei became surer of himself and in time, no longer needed the 'consolation' Kurama supplied. And it hadn't bothered Kurama one bit. Perhaps a harmless fling.

That _nothing_ was surely beginning to feel like. . . _something_ ** _._**

"It won't be like that," he said quietly.

 

_'No promise, old friend.'_

Hiei looked away before peeking through his bangs at a gentle gaze from the other.

Kurama brazenly dealt a low blow by using the voice he knew many did not have internal defenses against. Slightly deepened in the voice box; all velvet as the dewdrop petals of his infamous roses. And like those roses when put to use, at times, extremely lethal. " _Hiei_. Please rest."

The deliberate, lingering emphasis of his name shattered the loose ends of the lasting cracks in Hiei's emotional shield.

Releasing what gave the impression of a defeated sigh, Hiei untied his katana to sling the strip of hide holding the scabbard to the foot of the bedpost, removing his black boots unhurriedly. Scooting to the opposite end, Kurama burrowed under the blankets, smirking humorlessly when he heard his companion do the same.

How long they lay there, neither sleeping. . . greatly mindful of each other's body heat just inches from wandering fingertips. . .

The springs of the mattress creaked feebly as one of the lodgers sat up, frantically tossing away blanket. Kurama propped himself up by the elbows.

"Hiei?"

"Too warm," came a low mumble.

Kurama forgot his minor anxiety quickly at the gracious show the other demon gave stripping off his worn. baggy shirt, eyes greedily taking in all as the tendons and planes of his smooth, muscular skin rippled. Regaining his wits, Kurama turned his back to Hiei, no longer giving his eyes the pleasure.

 

 

*

 

Soft snoring.

That was the second thing that had stirred him some of the best sleep Kurama had had in. . .well, years. Curling his legs to his chest and yawning into his free hand, he comfortably stretched himself. Kurama then paused intrigued from getting up.

Where. . . was that snoring coming from?

The very thing that had awaken him was a rather unyielding fist buried into his button-up shirt, attached to the smaller male built curled up to him in a fashion similar to a satisfied cat. Right above the fist, probably one of the sweetest sights Kurama ever had the pleasure of coming around to.

No longer tirelessly kept blank to protect his emotions, Hiei's rounded face was at its most content when dead to the world. Kurama could not help _but_ stroke the tuft of hair within his extended arm's range and stretch his neck down to plant a _harmless_ kiss in the black mane of hair smelling of woods and rain.

It wasn't _his_ fault that Hiei had been alert enough to feel the odd but dutiful caresses.

Narrow, crimson eyes opened up slowly to take in the face hovering a good few inch from his, surprise and panic not settling in until the innocent smile the other demon cast parted to whisper, "Good morning, firebaby."

The single time that that nickname had been used was one particular midnight Hiei came in without permission, in the total darkness pinpointing Kurama's bed, and slid into his  arms, silent and shivering but not from the cold. Kurama had accidentally spoken the nickname while rubbing the back of his neck. Hiei had stiffened but had not protested as it was repeated once more before sleep had its way with them.

This time Hiei's reaction was lightning-fast and unspoken; within moments, Kurama was left alone in his cot, Hiei's shirt and katana gone, and the window in the bedroom half open. . . the morning wind whispering soothingly through the curtains.

 

*

 

There had been a phrase he had heard once, it described the circumstances flawlessly. Where he had heard it before, from the mouth and what situation, he couldn't place.

 _Everything I did in my life that was worthwhile I caught hell for._ (1)

He truly believed it was so.

If anything in his life had meant something, it had been the care and love of his human mother. Look where that got him. A broken heart, a shattered soul, and a new affirmed tendency to empathize. Compassion had been something Youko couldn't have understood in a million lifetimes. More than anything, having that feeling for a frail old human.

But it had been worth it, worth this state of hell. Having that woman to raise him, nearly seventeen years, taught him the art of devotion; how delicate and precious living could be when it intended to take away a thing dear to you. It sincerely opened one's eyes to what was valuable, what truly _treasure_ was.

Friends had meant something to him, as well. Yusuke and his genuine concern for others, Kuwabara and his more-often-than-not juvenile antics, Botan and her uncustomary cheerful spirit for a shinigami, and a range of individuals passing through his years.

 _Hiei_...

Kurama buried himself deeper into the useless planning of his stepfather's company policies, tightening his grip on the documents he concentrated on when the sound of a swishing cloak approached from his right side.

"What are you doing?"

Exhaustion lacing between his words, Kurama answered without blinking or moving his eyes from the line he was staring at, "Work. I'm a little busy, do you need something?" In all honesty, he had not expected Hiei to return that evening, considering what had happened that morning.

A light sheen of flush above his cheekbones. Irritated by the unforeseen heat, Kurama  bent forward, fixing a piece of paper over his face mostly to cover the burning dots. Hiei's voice, for the first time in a long time, drew out in a bewildered tone, "Isn't this supposed to be a vay- _kay_ -?"

To save him the trouble of stumbling through the sentence, Kurama cut him off briskly, "Vacation. Hatanaka insists that these be finished by the time I return to the office."

In hopes that his friend would not argue further, usually he lost interest, the taller demon narrowed his eyes, staring harder at the painstakingly small print in front of him but not at all focusing on the meaning. Not with the increasing awareness of his short-tempered companion boring holes into his profile.

With a great force, Kurama realized he was being hustled into the arch of the hallway, the clutch on his sweatshirt sleeve cruel and abrupt. In the distance, he heard the _thud_ of the kitchen chair he once sat in onto the tiled floor. Several moments later, he was no longer at the mercy of the hiyoukai. Kurama steadied himself by putting both hands on his bedpost as he was thrown unceremoniously towards the direction of his mattress in his lamp-lit bedroom.

Behind Hiei, the bedroom door slammed shut by itself at the gust of both figures moving quickly, by accident naturally. He ordered coldly, "Go to bed."

Slightly disoriented, Kurama shook his head.

"What are you…?" Crimson darkened.

"Fox, you can barely stay on your own feet. I will not repeat myself."

Kurama merely examined the stubborn demon in front of him, letting his eyes roam every inch of the creature blocking his exit. There was something almost defensive in his stance, as if he thought he was doing a favor by suggesting, no, _demanding_ for him to sleep. And perhaps it was for the best, he was feeling weary, a lot of things had weighted him down in the elapsed twenty-four hours. . . many intruding thoughts. . .

As the staring contest persisted between them, Hiei grew to distrust the glint in the other's gaze.

Unmistakenly coming to surface behind composed emerald eyes, threatening to destroy whatever self-control the nearly-human had left. It was a hunger he knew was preserved exclusively for objects desired, _beautiful sexual_ objects. It was not like Kurama to lose control, to succumb to any instinct without reason, but as the last month had shown, Kurama had a terrible sense of abandonment about him Hiei could not imagine.

Wanting to escape that confusing stare, he reached for the door but no less than after his palm closed around the metal knob jutting from the wood, Hiei's back found itself pushed against the panels of the bedroom wall.  The tips of their sharp noses almost touching. A vulnerable position. . . one Hiei didn't care for at all.

He send a message telepathically, ruby red eyes twitching with the underscore of { _What the hell are you thinking?}_

And didn't get the answer Hiei was quite expecting.

Two very intimate lips applied a gentle, _dizzy_ pressure, closing momentarily around the firm line of Hiei's mouth, the ends softly puckering. Eyes widened to the feel of this tender invasion to his personal space. Hiei's fists violently yanked at dark red hair, insisting that what he believed to be as _madness_ to end.

Ignoring the throbbing at his scalp, Kurama intensified the kiss, using his own coveting hands to curl around the shorter man and pull him bodily closer. Hiei yanked unkindly, somehow bringing their faces closer if it were possible, the impulse a response to his shock. The next telepathic message passed between them like breathless gasp.

_{Please stop.}_

Kurama obeyed it, panting and releasing his prey.

He barely had time to comprehend what he had done, to imagine the _damage_ he could have achieved to their strain of a friendship, before he was once again accosted by Hiei's grasp. This time by the thick scruff of his gray, fleece shirt. Panting just as loudly, Hiei used brute strength to thrust the taller demon up onto downy blankets, crawling on top of him to attach his open mouth to the half eager, half gaping mouth below him.

Mere seconds, with long kisses, Hiei calmed himself temporarily, sitting up and bowing his head so that his chin tapped his collarbone.

Disappointed and at the same time troubled at their obvious loss of restraint, Kurama eyed him from his position lying flat on the mattress. A part of his system, demon through and through, was having a hell of a time suppressing the basic primal instinct, despite knowing the chances of this going that far, he wouldn't allow Hiei a bad experience.

"What do you want, Hiei?"

Crimson eyes snapped back up, leveling with green. Hiei's mouth opened and closed inaudibly, small fingers clenching and unclenching in his palms.

"I want. . ."

 

*

 

_He remembers feeling warm. Considering his status as a half fire demon, he knew the differences of his demonic heat and another's. But he had never_ _felt a sweltering course through every vein in his body like this, an intoxicated hum, as he had when Kurama touched his left hand and guided it underneath his sweatshirt._

_Had never felt such a quell to tear away the atrocious fabric in his way, to eagerly claim flesh beneath it with his teeth and lips. The groaning sounds erupting from the kitsune's mouth more than enough motivation to bite harder._

_Had_ _never undressed so fast, had never felt his heart beat so loudly in his ears, had never felt more in control in his life with the amplified sensations of Kurama inside of him._

 _He didn't need to understand the definition of 'sex' to know what they were accomplishing. Kurama would needlessly remind him that it wasn't just 'sex'. It was_ making love _. Hiei would have gladly made this love until all the three world's ended, would have forgotten all else, his duties, his honor, to remain trapped in the sway they created, the lovely friction, full and sweating._

_Then suddenly, the world stilled._

_Behind the blinding white washes of pleasure spotting his vision, he heard his own hoarse voice moan the_ _connection. And soon as he thought it was over, Kurama brought him back to the edge of withering, matching his cries in volume._

*

 

A tear gem.

Black as midnight in Makai and as dark as a criminal's heart.

Sympathy. Weakness.

It symbolizes pieces of myself I could live without. And yet, I present the loathsome object to him as a gift, the only teargem I've ever cried. In a tiny nest of vines he summoned from seeds he carries, it is cradled next to his heart.

After all. . . it was for him.

 

*


End file.
